


On The Crest of a Wave (It's Like Magic)

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Disco, M/M, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You love disco,” Derek adds from his spot on the other end of the curved couch, and he’s set the book down, listening intently. “You’ve made me watch “Saturday Night Fever” more times than I can count.”</p><p> </p><p>Stiles bristles. “Everyone loves that movie. It’s John Travolta.” He feels like it’s a weak argument, because no one ever willingly watched it with him besides Derek. He’s especially quiet during movies and Stiles’s commentary doesn’t seem to be a bother to him any more than Stiles’s talking usually does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Crest of a Wave (It's Like Magic)

Stiles has hated the themed dances his school has had ever since Freshman year when the Dirty Dancing theme was really just streamers everywhere and almost no 80’s music actually played. They don’t end up getting better as he gets older, and the years previous “Roarin’ 20’s” dance was so disappointing that everyone made the decision to get drunk and resulted in nearly half of the gym being kicked out.

 

That being said, Stiles is not looking forward to his senior year’s “70’s Disco” theme at all.

 For a few weeks, he stews in the idea that he probably won’t end up going, despite Scott’s protests.

 

Stiles and Lydia are talking over outfits on Derek’s couch when Scott decides to bring it up right in front of the alpha himself. “I can tell how excited you are for the prospect, why don’t you just go?” he whines, and Stiles goes bug-eyed and gives him the finger.

 

“You’re not going?” Lydia asks, and by her tone Stiles knows she’s about to argue against it and he can also tell that she’s definitely going to win.

 

What he doesn’t expect, is for Derek to snap his book closed and actually start paying attention. He meets his eye hesitantly when he feels Derek’s steel glare on him, and it looks more judgemental than usual. “You’re not going to a 70’s themed dance. You.”

 

Stiles flails his hands. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal!”

 

Lydia digs her nails into his arm and smiles when he hisses in pain.  _“Because,_ idiot, it’s our last dance, ever.”

 

“You love disco,” Derek adds from his spot on the other end of the curved couch, and he’s set the book down, listening intently. “You’ve made me watch “Saturday Night Fever” more times than I can count.”

 

Stiles bristles. “Everyone loves that movie. It’s John Travolta.” He feels like it’s a weak argument, because no one ever willingly watched it with him besides Derek. He’s especially quiet during movies and Stiles’s commentary doesn’t seem to be a bother to him any more than Stiles’s talking usually does.

 

“What about “Flashdance” and “Staying Alive” then?”

 

“Film Classics,” Stiles defends easily. He feels himself blushing because only Scott and Derek really knew anything about his infatuation with disco, and were the only people he’d planned to tell. But now Lydia knows and even if his crush on her has long since faded, he was still hoping to convince her that he wasn’t a total nerd.

 

Derek rolls his eyes at him and Stiles thinks it’s a lot easier to look at him than meet Lydia and Scott’s disappointed expressions.  He raises an eyebrow at him, leans in conspiratorily, and says, “You cried into my shoulder when Donna Summer died.”

 

Stiles looks at him, horrified. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone that.”

 

“You told me it wasn’t a big deal when that happened,” Scott says to him. Lydia looks like she’s stuck between laughing and acting sympathetic and Scott looks sad and a little betrayed.

 

Stiles shrugs, looks anywhere but at him. “Derek probably would have judged me the least.”

 

Derek interrupts him with a clearing of his throat. “Well actually I judged you quite a bit.”

 

Stiles points at him. “Not cool. I bare my heart and soul and you  _judge_  me? I can’t believe it.”

 

Derek doesn’t look all that bothered. He picks his book back up and flips it open easily. “You make it so easy after all,” he mutters, now looking at the pages. “And I think you should go.”

 

Stiles sighs. Derek’s indifferent tone is the most convincing to him at that time.  “The dances suck anyways. They never follow the theme. It bugs me, so I wasn’t planning on going. Especially  _because_ I love disco a lot,” he adds, pointedly glaring at Derek. Derek doesn’t bother looking up but his mouth twitches just a bit.

 

“We can leave if it gets bad,” Scott promises, and even though Stiles knows he’s lying just to make him go— Scott will end up staying wherever Allison wants him to go and Stiles won’t leave without him— he feels the last thread of his resistance fraying away.

 

“Fine.”

 

-

 

He picks Scott up so he doesn’t have to ride on his motorcycle the whole way in his suit. He laughs at his best friend’s slicked down hair, flared light blue jeans and tight form-fitting powder-blue shirt, and Scott nearly can’t control himself at Stiles’s puffed out afro. Stiles has settled on his white tuxedo with the black collar and black dress shoes. He even has the chain hanging from his neck— he’d stolen it from his father’s closet where the jewelry was hidden.

 

“You forgetting anything?” Stiles asks when Scott hops into his car and he starts the engine. Scott checks his pockets and shakes his head. “Alright, groovy.”

 

Scott snorts so loudly that Stiles’s hand fumbles on the shift. “Are you  _kidding_  me?” he asks, and Stiles grimaces. He backs up and stops so fast that Scott jerks in his seat.

 

“Don’t ruin this for me.” He turns on the radio and speeds off.

 

Stiles gets that familiar pit in his stomach when it’s three minutes after the dance music has started up, and a dubstep tune blares through the speaker. The rest of the teens seem to share the sentiment because he can see almost half of the people in the gym protesting to their friends. He sighs, and scratches his hair under the large afro-wig on his head.

 

For the next few songs, Stiles dances with his friends, and Stiles finds that Boyd dances the most compatible to him: a kind of shuffle with their hands in their pockets because they don’t really know how to dance to this kind of music. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose when an actual 70’s song is turned into a remix just as the chorus begins. Boyd leaves him to go and sulk in the corner. He moves through the dancing bodies to where Scott is to tell him he’s about to leave. However, Scott and Allison are tangled together and smiling happily in that stupid way that tells Stiles he doesn’t want to interrupt them, so he backs up and makes his way to the tiny table with a large punch bowl.

 

The record scratches over the speakers and the music halts to a stop out of nowhere. Stiles lifts his head and in the dark he can barely make out the DJ leaving his spot at the large table in the center of the room and being replaced by someone else, someone tiny and petite looking. Scott appears at his side, and mutters into his ear, “I think that’s Cora.” He sniffs a couple of times. “Derek’s here too.”

 

Stiles turns frantically and looks for him in confusion, and then the music blares through the speakers again and a booming voice speaks into the microphone.  “Hey kids,” and yep, that’s definitely Cora, he’d recognize that patronizing voice anywhere, “how do you feel about jamming to some of the greatest hits of the 70’s?”

 

The crowd cheers hesitantly, and she chuckles over the microphone, knowing. “No, really, we’re actually playing the  _greatest_ hits. You won’t be disappointed.” And then the music kicks up, “Stayin’ Alive” playing throughout the gym. When the student get over the shock of the change in music, they all start dancing again, much more enthusiastic. Boyd is sitting in a plastic chair in the corner, still looking uncomfortable and Stiles grabs him by the arm and hauls him up to join them. Stiles coaxes him to eventually bounce up and down with the music, and he’s starting to grin.

 

Scott does a hilarious interpretation of the disco and Stiles and Boyd laugh. Stiles lets go of Boyd’s arm and swings around in a circle, swinging his arms. His feet skip out from under him as he tries to stop and he catches himself, only to run straight into a brick wall of a body, causing him to careen in the opposite direction. His head is spinning when his arm is yanked and halts him in his spot, Derek’s eyes peering into his own.

 

“Oh, hey,” Stiles says in shock, and looks him up and down. He’s not dressed in the stereotypical 70’s fashion, but he just manages to look funky enough in a black slim fitting suit and a plaid undershirt that he gets away with it. And in a suit he looks much more in his skin that Stiles takes a second too long to look him over. Over the course of the years, he’s learned to be softer and Stiles has never seen it more than he sees it now. When he looks back up to meet Derek’s gaze, his mouth is curved up just the slightest bit, and his palm moves lower, down his arm to scrape against his own hand.

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles tries to ignore the tingling of the skin on the back of his hand. “How did you get in here?” he asks, because Derek obviously looks so much older than any high school-aged kid with his dark stubble, and Stiles is afraid that Derek’s locked all of his teachers in a closet or something.

 

Derek shrugs. “The lacrosse coach let me in. That Finstock guy. I said I was here with someone, he told me he didn’t care.”

 

Stiles chuckles just a bit. “Right.” The music changes, and the song catches Stiles’s ear, so he starts bobbing his head with the music. “Are you here to dance?” he asks Derek with a wave of his hand into the air.

 

Derek is watching him move but standing just as stoic as ever, his eyebrows a little pinched. “Hey, relax a little, guy,” Stiles tells him lightly, delivering a gentle punch to his arm. Derek looks quickly back and forth between Stiles’s hand and his face.

 

“I just came here to make sure you had a good time,” Derek says quietly, leaning in. And well, that delivers like a punch to his gut. Because Derek doesn’t look like he has a clue what he’s doing in a gym full of grinding teenagers, but the fact that he’d come just for Stiles’s benefit despite his discomfort makes the heat in Stiles’s chest flare up again.

 

Derek’s guarded gaze when Stiles meets his eyes is enough for Stiles to lean up on his toes and steal a quick kiss on the corner of Derek’s mouth without thinking. He freezes, just a few inches from Derek’s face when he realizes what he’s done, and some of the people around him are stunned, staring at him. “I,” Stiles says, licking his lips that are now dry enough to start cracking. He looks around frantically for Scott, or Boyd or anyone else but they haven’t seemed to notice him.

 

He feels a panic attack coming on and the way Derek is just  _staring_ at him isn’t helping. He can’t even decipher the expression on Derek’s face, but he doesn’t think that it looks good. But then,  _then,_  Derek’s mouth does that little twitch thing like he’s trying really hard to hold back a smile. He bows his head so no one else can see him and so they’re leaning towards each other and Stiles can smell his cologne. Stiles still feels like he can’t breathe, but now it’s for a completely different reason.

 

“What’d you do that for?” Derek asks him, earnest, and Stiles feels like he can only shrug.

 

“Because I wanted to.”

 

Derek looks him over, smirks. Stiles doesn’t know when his hands had started to slide over his hips, but now it’s all he can feel as they increase the pressure just to pull him closer. When Derek’s mouth meets his own, he can only sigh into it and try to increase the pressure of their lip. Derek keeps it soft by tilting his head back and gently biting onto Stiles’s lip, and Stiles cranes his neck to get closer, steps into Derek’s space just to pull the lapel of Derek’s suit to ground himself. They stay like that for a few minutes, both of them chuckling when Cora plays “Careless Whispers” and whistles over the microphone.

 

“Mm- _ha,”_ Stiles huffs out when Derek’s hands skim over the ticklish underside of his stomach, and he keeps laughing even as Derek leans their foreheads together and gives him a confused look. “You like me even with my afro on.”

 

Derek snorts and lets go of Stiles. Stiles moves forward quickly and gets ahold of him again,  saying “my dorkiness is a turn on for you.”

 

“Let me go, I’m going home.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Not without  _me_ you’re not. We’ve got some things to talk over, some more making out to do.” He meets Derek’s glassy eyes and gives him a smirk. “And you still have to dance with me.”

 

Derek groans, but his hand grabs Stiles’s anyways to pull him in.

 

-

“Heya Boyd,” Stiles says to the other man, joining him in his lonesome with Derek not too far behind, and Boyd nods in greeting to the both of them. “So uh, guess who just showed up, per Derek’s request.”

 

Boyd looks over to him, and his expression says he’s trying not to get his hopes up. “Who?”

 

Stiles jerks his head to the corner of the room where Erica is leaning into the wall. She smirks and winks at Stiles, and meets Boyd’s eyes. Boyd smiles so brightly that it kind of makes Stiles sick, so he nudges at him with his elbow to get a move on. Boyd gives him a grateful slap on the arm, but then he’s gone, racing through the crowd.

 

Stiles grins and leans into Derek. “Oh!” Stiles cheers when the song changes again. “Scott!” Scott races over because their favorite song is playing, and Derek is looking at the both of them, confused. Scott and Stiles are in the middle of violently head bobbing along to “Livin’ Thing,” accompanied with dramatic violin motions. Scott breaks off his singing with a boisterous laugh but Stiles continues, marching around their little circle.

He catches Derek’s eye and races up to grab his hand. Stiles spins and Derek gets the hint, spins Stiles under the loop of his arm. Stiles laugh when Derek reels him in with a snap and he lands against his solid chest. Derek is swaying them back and forth and he hooks an arm around Stiles’s lower back.

 

“Can you dig it,” Stiles says with enough inflection in his voice to sound completely ridiculous. Derek, on his part, seems like he at least tries not to laugh at him. He burrows his nose into Stiles’s neck and Stiles in turn grabs the open collars of Derek’s shirt and pulls him in to dance. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got a ton of prompts on tumblr that I've been filling out over the past couple of days, so feel free to come and visit me (my URL is obriensnipples and reblogs are awesome)   
> The title is from the ELO song "Livin' Thing" which is also mentioned in the fic. I suggest listening to it, it's my favorite song lately.
> 
> And as always, comments are much appreciated! And I hope you liked it!


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